


Christmas in Starling

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Embarrassment, F/M, Felicity Smoak/Ray Palmer Fake Relationship, Olicity Secret Santa 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: Felicity Smoak is the most popular lifestyle writer on the West Coast; her blog posts discussing her life with her husband and baby on their farm outside of Starling City are highly regarded, whether she’s talking about a new pork loin recipe she just tried, being a true partner with her husband in running the farm, or the joys of motherhood.  Her posts are now being compiled and expanded into a book which is sure to be a bestseller.  The only problem?  It’s all fake.  And to prevent everyone from finding out what she’s done, she’s going to have to pretend to be the perfect wife and mother over the Christmas holidays, while hosting her book editor, John Diggle, and a recently-returned soldier named Oliver Queen.    Can you get a Christmas miracle even if you’re Jewish?  Because falling for Oliver might give Felicity the life she’s always wanted . . . but the entire world, including Oliver, thinks she already has the life she wants.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jacq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacq/gifts).



> This fic is written for Jacq/hope-for-olicity as part of the Olicity Secret Santa. This is a loose adaptation of the movie Christmas in Connecticut, and I do hope you enjoy it! I feel like I should apologize for how long it is, too, although for anyone looking to avoid annoying relatives or fill up a big chunk of time during the holidays, clearly this story has you covered. :-) Happy holidays!

Sergeant Oliver Queen had spent twelve days in a hole in the desert of Afghanistan with his best friend, Specialist Tommy Merlyn, and only enough MREs for half that time.  They had been near a spring, providing them fresh water and a chance at survival.  Yet his dreams of perfectly-cooked five-course meals had done more to sustain him than anything else.  

The annoying thing was, he had let Tommy have the last remaining portion of their final MRE.  Oliver had an extra day of starvation compared to Tommy, so while his friend was now getting fried chicken and steak in his meals, Oliver was still getting broth and rice.  Bland, tasteless food, food that made his taste buds fall asleep.  It didn’t seem like a proper reward for getting rescued and returning home as a hero.

Not that he felt like much of a hero.  He just wanted to finish recovering so he could go home and take care of his sister.  With their parents gone and Thea only sixteen, he hoped his pension and various bonuses would let him start his life over and give his sister a real home.  The Army just needed to stop dragging its feet on giving him his discharge.

The lawyer from the VA who was helping him tried to keep his spirits up, but Oliver knew that Laurel was feeling equally discouraged.  She thought that at this point, they needed to get more attention for his case--get the public to exert some pressure on the Army--but Oliver wasn’t interested in that.  Not really.  

Picking up the tablet Thea had brought on her last visit, Oliver carefully tapped on the screen.  Thea was the only person who knew just how much he liked cooking, so she had gathered several blogs and podcasts for him on the tablet--to help pass the time, she had told him.  

Most of the choices hadn’t really captured his attention.  Only one had: the blog of a young woman, writing with an expertise and a cheerfulness that had been like a balm to his soul.  Reading just one of her posts made the day feel bright and sunny, even if it was cold and raining outside the hospital.  

The recipes and accompanying pictures made his mouth water, but it was the descriptions about her life that made him feel like he was part of her family.  Of course, since she was writing about her husband and their new baby, Oliver knew the author wasn’t single.  In the past, before he joined the Army, that would have made him lose interest.  Married women weren’t worth the hassle--not unless he didn’t know they were married.  He was different now, however.  The woman who wrote this blog--she was different, too.

The life she described was what he wanted.  A wife, a home . . . a child.  After five years in the Army, the idea of settling down and living quietly sounded good.  Not to mention it would give a home to Thea, provide some stability to her.  

If only he could get the money he was owed . . . 

“Ugh!”

The voice of Laurel Lance made Oliver look up from his tablet.  The frustration and annoyance were so clear, he winced in sympathy.  “Usually you only act like that after you’ve talked to Tommy.  The meeting didn’t go well?” he asked, setting down the tablet.

She yanked off her suit jacket, dropping it on the foot of his bed, then plopped down angrily in the chair beside it.  Her butt had barely made contact before she leaped to her feet and started pacing.  “I don’t understand why they’re stalling!” she bit out, roughly tucking a lock of wavy brown hair behind her ear.  “There’s no way with your injuries for you to ever return to your unit, but they refuse to discharge you.  They keep talking about ‘specialized skills’ that you supposedly have.”  

Oliver felt a shiver go down his spine.  Specialized skills . . . he knew what that meant.  When he had managed to wrest a transfer away from Lieutenant Colonel Waller’s special unit, he had thought that was the end of it.  He should have known she wouldn’t have let him go so easily without having plans to get him back into ARGUS unit.    

“I . . . I can’t stay in the Army,” Oliver said, hearing how scared he sounded and hating the display of that weakness. 

Laurel’s warm hazel eyes assessed him, but she didn’t comment on his fear.  Instead, with supreme confidence, she replied, “You won’t be staying.  We’ll find a way, Oliver.  There’s got to be some way to bring the Army around.”  

“It’s the Army,” Oliver countered.  “They’re like the government, only with less opportunities to apply pressure.”  

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Laurel said, folding her arms over her chest.  “If I’m not enough to convince them, we’ll just have to get more people on our side.”  

Her eyes flicked to his tablet and she looked back at him before frowning.  “You read  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ ?”  

His forehead wrinkled in confusion.  “Wait, you know it?”  

“Everyone knows  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ ,” Laurel said, picking up his tablet and tapping on the screen a few times.  “Did you know she’s got a book coming out soon?  I’ve already pre-ordered it.”

Oliver hadn’t known . . . but he knew what he would be doing as soon as Laurel left.  After he figured out if any of his credit cards were still active.

“I mean, just look at this!” Laurel said, turning the tablet so he could see the screen, where a photo of a luscious, mouth-watering Christmas feast was displayed.  Oliver felt his mouth water as he remembered the menu. [Sweet potato soup](http://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/recipes/a51850/cinnamon-spiced-sweet-potato-soup-with-maple-croutons/) followed by a [fennel and garlic roasted pork loin](http://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/recipes/a11265/fennel-garlic-roast-pork-loin-red-onions-pears-recipe-125155/). [Apple and walnut stuffing](http://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/recipes/a40044/apple-walnut-stuffing-recipe-clx1114/), [cranberry almond spinach salad](http://www.cookingclassy.com/cranberry-almond-spinach-salad/), and a [butternut squash and potato gratin](http://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/recipes/a11586/potato-butternut-squash-gratin-recipe-wdy1212/) for the sides.  A choice of [mulled hot cider](http://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/recipes/a8816/mulled-cider-recipe-120519/) or [cranberry orange punch](http://www.thegunnysack.com/cranberry-orange-holiday-punch/) to drink throughout the meal.  Finally, for dessert, [mini cheesecakes with sugared pecans](http://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/recipes/a38888/mini-cheesecakes-sugared-pecans-recipe-clx1213/) and an [eggnog pudding](http://www.countryliving.com/food-drinks/recipes/a1415/eggnog-pudding-3534/).  

“It just reminds me of what I can’t have,” Oliver said.  When Laurel did a double-take, he quickly explained, “Food!  I’m still on a light diet.  I--I wasn’t talking about anything else that Felicity writes about.”

Laurel’s eyebrow went up, but she didn’t say anything more, just turned the tablet around and scrolled.  “People keep sending her rocking chairs,” she said idly.

He nodded, opening his mouth to talk about the rocking chair he remembered being in his house, but before he could speak, Laurel’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with his.  “People keep sending her rocking chairs,” she repeated.

“Yeah . . . ?” Oliver asked, wondering where Laurel was going with this.  Felicity had mentioned in a recent post her appreciation for readers sending her rocking chairs, after she had talked about her search for the perfect chair.  

“This!  This is what we need!” Laurel whirled around, his tablet in one hand while she dug through her purse with the other.  

“Rocking chairs?”

At his question, Laurel looked at him in confusion.  “Rocking chairs?  What?  No-- _ Felicity’s Fireside _ , that’s what we need!”

She shoved his tablet back at him, then sat down in the chair, her attention fixed on her phone.  Oliver stared at her as she tapped away, her grin growing wider and wider.  

“There!” Laurel said, looking up at him.  It shouldn’t be possible, but her grin got even wider.  “If this doesn’t get you your discharge, nothing will.”  

“Laurel, what--”  

A ding from the tablet drew his attention.  It was Thea, sending him a message on Facebook.   _ Wow, Laurel is smart--this is such a great idea! _

Attached to the message was a link to a Facebook post.  Oliver clicked on it, feeling his mouth fall open.

**Sergeant Oliver Queen spent twelve days starving in the Afghanistan desert, sacrificing food so his best friend and fellow soldier could live.  He’s returned home and is recovering in the Starling City VA Hospital, but all he wants is to spend Christmas in the home of Felicity Smoak, the author of the** **_Felicity’s Fireside_ ** **blog.  If you think a soldier and hero like Oliver deserves this reward, like this post and share it with your friends!**

As he read the post, he could see comments being added, could see the number of people liking and sharing the post increase by the second.  It made him speechless.  He slowly lifted his gaze to Laurel, feeling at a complete loss.

“It’s very simple.  If we can get Felicity on your side, lobbying for an American hero who’s being ill-treated by the very service who’s supposed to be protecting him now, then we’ll be able to bring the Army around!  They need to keep enlistments up--showing how they’re not supporting their servicemen would hit them right where it hurts,” Laurel explained.  “Plus, once your injuries heal up enough, imagine what it would be like, to have Christmas dinner with Felicity Smoak and her family.  It’d make all the boring food worth it, wouldn’t it?”

Oliver didn’t know what to say.  He was totally shocked by this idea, and not a little nervous about what might happen.  What if this all backfired terribly?  Most of all, though . . . he wanted this idea to work.  So much.  It made him feel a rush of excitement at the possibility.  What if this crazy plan of Laurel’s actually worked?  What if he actually got to meet Felicity Smoak?  The woman who seemed absolutely perfect to him, with how warm and loving and domestic she sounded in her posts?  

Did the reality match the perception?  

XXX

At her computer, Felicity Smoak popped the last piece of rugelach into her mouth and chewed slowly as she read over the words on the screen.  

**From my desk in my little writing nook, I can hear the snap and crackle of the cedar logs in my fireplace.  Through the window, I can see the brown and gray fields of our farm, lying fallow as they enjoy their winter respite.  Soon I will go to the kitchen to check on the pot roast, prepared according to[my preferred recipe](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ree-drummond/perfect-pot-roast-recipe.html): a perfect cut of meat, roasted simply with onions, carrots, rosemary and thyme.  All of these wonderful things make me so grateful for the most wonderful of all: my husband and my baby.  I know in a few moments, my husband will bring our baby to me, our little one fresh from the bath, all sweet-smelling soft skin and laughing eyes.  My husband will kiss me on the cheek and ask how has today’s writing gone, and I will tell him the same thing I always do: “It’s going well, thanks to you.”  **

**It’s the truth, dear readers, that I could not do any of this without my beloved husband and baby.  Yet I also could not do this without you.  As the holiday season approaches, may all the blessings of the season fill your days.  Thank you, as always, for joining me at my fireside.**

As she swiped her tongue around her back molars to unstick some of the rugelach’s raisin filling, Felicity considered the text.  Her eyes roamed over her small apartment, taking in the hissing radiator and the view of the water tank on the neighboring apartment building’s roof.  

It appeared her algorithm had gotten into the Christmas spirit, big time.  Given how she had never celebrated Christmas, thanks to being Jewish, she wasn’t sure how accurate it was.  Still, the program seemed to know what it was doing, based on her follower count.  

Felicity began prepping the post for publication, by sending an email to Roy with the rough draft and asking him to come up with some photo possibilities.  Roy Harper was a photographer by trade who also happened to be a foodie.  It was thanks to him the recipe section of  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ was so popular, since Felicity could barely boil water and lived off takeout.  

Her fingers hesitated on the keyboard.  When she had started all of this, it hadn’t seemed so . . . dishonest.  Now, though, with the publication of her book imminent, she was wondering if what she was doing was the right thing.  

Originally, it had just been about testing her skills.  During her junior year at MIT, Felicity had created an algorithm, one designed to write blog posts and personal essays that would rack up hits.  Of course, any monkey could code something that would make no sense to the reader but would hit every search engine optimization strategy around.  So Felicity tried to write a program which would actually create something enjoyable to read.

She had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.  Her algorithm had created a life she would never want to live, though--she wasn’t a country girl at all.  She liked cities and technology and food delivery apps, for lo mein deliveries at any time of the day or night.  While she wanted to get married and have children someday, it wasn’t anything Felicity was in a hurry to accomplish.  Not when there were so many programs to write, so many trips to take, so very much she wanted to do first, before she had to settle down.  

The world of  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ had struck a chord with so many readers, however.  It had felt like a whirlwind from the very beginning and had only gotten worse since she signed the contract for the book.  From the moment she had submitted the manuscript four months ago, the whirlwind felt more like being in a wind tunnel.  Her book was to be published next week, just in time for holiday gift-giving, and she should be feeling excited and happy.  She was, really.  Yet she couldn’t seem to help this feeling of impending doom.

It was so foolish.  Everything was fine.  Everyone at her publisher was happy with the final version of her book.  There was no sign of Roy getting cold feet, and he was a real moralist.  Even the only other person to know the truth hadn’t raised any objections about what she was doing.  Ray Palmer had been her boss for four months after she graduated from MIT, until  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ had really taken off.  He thought the blog and then the book was a wonderful way to prove how complex her algorithm was.  In fact, Ray had been hinting more and more about wanting to hire Felicity again and have her use her algorithm to improve his products.  In-between trying to get her to date him, that is.

This was just an odd stirring of conscience.  She had already decided to take half her profits and donate them to causes important to her: STEM education, Planned Parenthood and the like.  Maybe if she donated seventy-five percent of the profits, she could beat back this feeling of being a fraud, of taking advantage of gullible people.  Besides, it wasn’t like she wasn’t providing something entertaining for her readers, right?  They all loved the posts and the recipes--recipes for which she compensated Roy handsomely.  

This algorithm wasn’t hurting anyone.  It couldn’t be used for ill.  Not like her first attempts, attempts she could see would end very badly.  So she had redirected her efforts into something simpler, safer.  This was better.  

Maybe once the book was published, she could come up with a reason to stop updating  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ .  Maybe kill her mythical husband, or have another mythical baby.  Anything that would let her move on.  She had plenty of ideas, after all--she could work on them.  Or finally accept one of Ray’s many job offers.

The ringing doorbell made her jump up, hurrying to her front door.  She smiled widely at the FedEx driver.  

“Felicity Smoak?” he asked, holding the box out to her.  

She took it quickly, beaming at him.  “Thank you and happy holidays!” 

Without any delay, she carried the box into her living room/office and ripped it open.  Then, with a feeling of reverence, she lifted the shoes out of the box.  Touching them, knowing they were hers . . . it made her understand Gollum and his mutterings about ‘my precious’.  That was how she felt about these [Dolce & Gabbana heels](http://luxury.zappos.com/dolce-gabbana-laser-cut-patent-leather-mesh-w-metal-heel-gold).  So intricate, so beautiful, so utterly impractical.  

This was why she did what she did.  This was why she would never be the woman described in  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ \--because that Felicity would never wear these shoes.  A cage of golden leather lace that would wrap around her heels and toes, supported by four-inch heels.  Shoes that made her feel like a princess even before she had them on her feet.

She was so tempted to put them right on, but she wanted to finish her work for the day and then dress herself up, to give the shoes the proper canvas.  Carefully, she wrapped them back in the tissue paper and replaced them in their box.  Then, feeling better, she went back to her computer to see if Roy had responded.  

There was no answer yet, but . . . there was an email from John Diggle, her book editor, along with more messages than usual from Facebook about  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ being mentioned in several posts.  Her natural curiosity--as well as the nervous feelings evoked by Mr. Diggle--made Felicity open Facebook.  It didn’t take long to see what was going on.  

A bunch of people, wanting her to host for Christmas some soldier recently returned from Afghanistan . . . what a horrible idea!

Well, no, it was a nice idea--Felicity could see that, of course.  Yet there was no way, of course.  There was no way she could entertain some stranger for the holidays!

XXX

Felicity’s hands were trembling so much, she could barely get a new Skype call started.  The wait for Ray and Roy to both connect felt endless, but finally, both their faces were on her screen: one high cheekboned and hazel-eyed, the other square-jawed like Superman, but both of them wore confused expressions.

“Felicity?  What’s wrong?”

“Did you try to cook again, Blondie?”  

It was clear Roy was trying to cheer her up, but Felicity was too distracted by the sense of impending doom to respond to his teasing.  “I’m so screwed!” she said, her voice close to being a wail.  

Ray shook his head.  “Felicity, what do you mean?”

“Mr. Diggle!  My book editor.  He wants me to host some soldier for Christmas, because he thinks I have a farm, a husband and a baby,” Felicity said, barely resisting the urge to tear her hair out.

Her former boss’s forehead wrinkled.  “Mr. Diggle or the soldier thinks you have a farm, a husband and a baby?”

“Mr. Diggle, Ray!  Mr. Diggle!  Well, the soldier, too, I guess--he’s apparently a big fan of mine, and someone made a Facebook post about how all he wants for Christmas is to spend it with me and my family, and it blew up on Facebook and Twitter, so much that Mr. Diggle heard about it.  He thinks it would be a great way to publicize my book, and not only does he want me to invite the soldier, he got me to invite him for Christmas, too!” Felicity said, starting to pant by the time she finished speaking, because she was talking so fast she could barely breathe.  

Roy chuckled.  “Wow.”

“Wow?  That’s all you have to say, Roy?” Felicity asked, glaring at her assistant.

The young man shrugged.  “What else is there to say?”

“How about giving me a way to get out of this?” she replied, giving in the urge and yanking the holder from her ponytail.  She raked her hands through her hair and then redid her ponytail.

“Sure--tell Mr. Diggle the truth,” Roy said.  “The worst he can do is not publish your book.”  

As much as she wish she could accept Roy’s advice--because it was truly the simplest course of action--Felicity knew she couldn’t.  Because if she told her editor the truth and he cancelled her contract, Felicity would have to pay back the advance on her royalties.  An advance of which she had already spent a hefty chunk, on this brand-new computer and more than one pair of designer shoes.  Shoes she hadn’t even gotten a chance to wear yet!

“I can’t do that,” Felicity said, shaking her head.  “I need other ideas.”  

“Couldn’t you tell Mr. Diggle your baby is sick?” Ray suggested.  “Give it the flu or something.” 

“I tried that!  I said it had whooping cough and he thought I was one of those anti-vaccination nutjobs,” Felicity said with a sigh.  “He has kids, so he knew there was a vaccination for whooping cough.”  

Adjusting her glasses, she blew out a breath.  “Look, I know this is all my fault, but . . . I need help, guys.”  

Roy pursed his lips and remained silent, but Ray leaned towards the screen.  “What if you had a farm, a husband and a baby?”  

Felicity blinked.  “The whole reason I’m in this mess is because I don’t have those--and how can I get all of them in five days?”  

“Well, I can provide the farm,” Ray said, clearly attempting to sound casual yet charming at once, but not really pulling it off.  “It can’t be that hard to find a farm near Starling City, something we could make look right.”  

He took a breath.  “And as far as a husband . . . well, I would be happy to play the part for a few days.”  

Roy’s eyes widened, just like Felicity knew her own did.  Because anyone could hear the hope in Ray’s voice.  Up until now, Felicity had thought Ray was chasing after her because she kept saying no.  But now, she had to think he actually had feelings for her--feelings she really didn’t return.  Feelings she didn’t think she would ever return.  

The silence stretched out awkwardly until Ray cleared his throat.  “It would just be a few days, Felicity.  Don’t worry, it’d just be one friend helping another.”  

“I’ll help, too, Felicity,” Roy said quickly.  “I can come and . . . we can say I’m your intern or something.  I’ll handle the cooking.”

Even though she knew Roy had volunteered simply to smooth over the situation with Ray, Felicity was grateful for his offer.  She was grateful for both of the men in her life pitching in to help.  They didn’t have to do this, but they were stepping up to help with this admittedly-wacky idea.  

“Thank you, both of you,” she said, meeting each of their eyes in turn.  She smiled, trying to strike a cheerful note.  “Now I just need a baby.”  

“I can help with that,” Roy said.  “I’ve got a friend, a single mom who could use a break.  She could pick up extra hours over Christmas at the restaurant she works, if her baby has someone to look after it.”  

“Really?” Felicity asked, feeling hopeful for the first time all day.

Roy shrugged and smiled.  “Sure.  If Ray can get the farm, we’ll be good to go.”  

“I can get it.  What’s the use of being a billionaire if I can’t buy a farm at the drop of a hat?” Ray asked, smiling his too-toothy smile.  “I’ll get right on that.  You’re not alone in this, Felicity.”  

He looked offscreen, saving Felicity from having to immediately respond to his words.  Then he looked back at her.  “I’ve got to go, but I’ll be in touch.  Nice talking to you, Roy.”  

“Thanks, Ray--I mean it,” Felicity said quickly before he ended the call on his end, leaving just Roy.  Who was shaking his head at her.  

“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Roy asked, leaning forward a little.  “Just pulling off the cooking is going to be huge--and then you have to pretend to be the perfect mother and wife?”  

“I’m crazy enough to pull this off,” Felicity said with a grin, her spirits buoyed by having a plan.  “I’ve got five days to prep--I can fake being a good cook.  And Ray’s nice--I like him plenty.  He’s doing me a huge favor, and I’m grateful to him.”

Roy huffed.  “Gratitude isn’t love.”  

“If I can fake being a good cook, I can fake being a good wife,” Felicity insisted.  “I can do this, Roy--but not without you.  C’mon, in the spirit of the holidays?”

“Aren’t you Jewish?  How much do you know about the Christmas spirit?” Roy asked skeptically.  

“Like I haven’t seen a Christmas movie or two,” Felicity told him.  “Roy . . .”

The young man threw his hands up in the air.  “All right, all right.  I said I would help.  I’ll take care of the food.”  

Felicity smiled brilliantly at him.  “Thank you, Roy.  I’ll talk to you later.”  

They both ended the call, and Felicity leaned back in her chair, her smile still in place.  A seemingly-insurmountable problem had just been solved, thanks to her friends.  That was a testament to her life--her real life.  Her friends were her family, and just like a family, they were standing by her even when she had done something incredibly foolish.  

Yet even better than a real family, her friends were of her own choosing.  And Felicity was so thankful she had chosen so well.  That was the true spirit of the holidays, she thought as she got back to work.

XXX

As she sat beside Ray in his fancy Mercedes with the gull wing doors and heated seats and in-car WiFi, Felicity couldn’t help fidgeting with her phone.  They weren’t far from the farm Ray had bought, and now that she was so close, Felicity was realizing just what she had gotten herself in for.  It was bad enough she was going to have to pretend to be an excellent cook and a wonderful housekeeper over the next three days, but . . . pretending to be married to Ray?  

It didn’t feel right.  Not with knowing about his feelings for her--feelings that were much deeper than she had realized.  It felt even more dishonest than pretending to be some super-domestic happy housewife.  

However, it was really too late now.  In three hours, Sergeant Oliver Queen and his little sister would be arriving for the Christmas holiday, and they would expect to be welcomed at the home described in  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ .  Later tonight, Mr. Diggle would be arriving, too, and the real performance would begin.  

“Feeling nervous?”  

Felicity’s head whipped around at Ray’s question.  “What makes you ask that?”  

Ray glanced at her, then nodded towards her hands.  Her cell phone now abandoned, her fingers twisting together in her lap, clearly displaying her emotional state.  Felicity immediately stopped fidgeting, clasping her hands together.  

“I guess I am a little,” she admitted.  “It’s . . . it’s just sinking in, what we’re doing, and it could all go really wrong.  Even if it goes right, things--things are going to change, and that’s scary.  Don’t you think it’s scary?”

He looked out the windshield, thinking over his response.  “I suppose it’s scary, but I prefer to think about the possibility of it all.  The chance of something new, something different.  That’s exciting.”  

“Oh,” Felicity said softly, turning her head to look out the window.  She wasn’t really sure how to respond to Ray and that perpetual optimism of his.  It was all so foreign to her, to be so hopeful and cheerful.  Felicity had always thought she was practical to a fault: utterly pragmatic and logical.  So Ray’s approach just felt short-sighted and too dependent on luck.  

“Roy is already at the farmhouse with the baby,” Ray said, breaking the slightly-awkward silence.  “He’s got the shopping all taken care of, as befits a good intern.”  

“Great,” Felicity said, sliding her hands under her legs to hide the twitching of her fingers.  “I--I’m excited to see the farm,” she said, even though she really wasn’t.  Being out here, surrounded by empty landscape . . . it creeped her out a little.  

Giving her a brilliant smile, Ray turned into a driveway, past a sign that bore the words Pine Tree Farm.  “I’m glad you are, because the wait is over.”  

Felicity all but pressed her nose against the window as they drove up the long, meandering drive.  Her eyes were peeled for the first sign of the house and the fields, hoping that it might come close to the descriptions on her blog.  

Finally, the house came into view, making Felicity sigh.  It was nearly exactly how her algorithm and herself had pictured it: a big white house with a large front porch, the front door painted red and black shutters surrounding the windows. 

“It’s perfect,” Felicity breathed out.  She spotted something on the front porch and leaned forward to see it better, then turned to Ray and beamed at him.  “There’s even the porch swing!”

“Great!  That means the firm did their job,” Ray said, parking the car and getting out.  

Fumbling a little with the gull wing door, thanks to her shorter arms, Felicity managed to exit the car and catch up with Ray.  “The firm?”  

He was hunting for something in his pockets, so his voice sounded a bit distracted.  “The design firm I hired to make this place look just like the farm on your blog.”  

It was all she could do not to let her mouth drop open.  Not only had Ray bought this farm, he had hired an interior decorator to renovate the place, in just four days?  She knew how rich Ray was, but she had no idea he would be willing to spend so much money on her.  

“Ray, this--”  Felicity tried to find the words, but she just couldn’t.  She looked around, taking it all in, before turning back to him.  She was ready to tell him she hadn’t seen him clearly before now, but she liked what she saw.  Before she could get her tongue to work, though, something about the farmland surrounding the house struck her as . . . wrong.  Off.  Not right.  

With a frown, she looked around, taking in just how many trees seemed to surround the house, as well as the small shack at the edge of the only bit of clear land as far as the eye could see, in front of the farmhouse.  The shack was almost like a gatehouse or something.  And . . . did it have a sign on it saying  _ Pine Tree Farm: For All Your Christmas Tree Needs _ ?  No, that couldn’t be right--her glasses must be smudged.

“Ray?” Felicity asked, her curiosity growing--along with her dread.  “What’s this?”

Her pretend husband looked around, then turned to her.  “It’s a farm.”  

“But--but a Christmas tree farm?” Felicity said, feeling her breath come faster.  Because this was totally not what she had described on  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ !  

“I . . . thought it would be festive?” Ray asked, sounding like he didn’t understand her objection.  Something that made her work with everything in her to not lose her temper.

“Ray,” she said after a deep breath, “since you read my blog, you know I always say it’s a real working farm.  With horses and cows and chickens, with corn and wheat fields and a vegetable garden and a fruit orchard.”  

Ray went back to searching through his pockets.  “I know that.  But this was the only option I could find that was anywhere near Starling City.  Besides, it’s not like there would be any crops growing in December.  We can say that in a future blog post, you’re going to reveal the big changes that have happened at the farm--changes that you kept private until after the holidays, so you could have an honest experiment.  Ah-ha!”  He pulled a key out of his pocket and turned to unlock the door and step into the house, leaving Felicity fuming on the porch. 

How dare he make such a big change without consulting her first?  He wasn’t the one whose whole life on the line--he should have talked to her about this before he made any changes!

In the back of her mind, Felicity knew her anger was misplaced.  Yes, Ray had done something she hadn’t approved of, yet it was partly her own fault.  Not just for this whole mess in the first place, but for not asking more questions after Ray had agreed to help her.  

Turning to the side, she looked at the stand of pine and fir trees to the left of the house.  She walked towards the end of the porch, taking in the fine-looking trees, and inhaled deeply.  The scent of the trees was rich and heavy, perfuming the air and making her cough a little.  

Maybe she wasn’t cut out for country air.  

With a sigh, Felicity turned and walked into the house.  She would just have to make the best of it.  Ray’s proposed solution wasn’t a bad one, although it would hinge on her ability to sell it.  It was just one more lie she had to track, really.  And with so many lies already, what was one more?

At least the interior of the house matched the descriptions from  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ .  There was the cozy parlor with its large fireplace, a shining kitchen, and a dining room with a long farmer’s table.  The bedrooms on the upper floor featured patchwork quilts, rag rugs, and other country touches she dimly recalled from early blog posts.  

Yes, this would all work out.  Now she just needed to change and spend some time with Ray and Roy, making sure their stories were all in sync, before their first guests arrived.  

Felicity was reaching for the zipper on her dress when she heard the sound of a car on the driveway.  Frowning, she dashed to the window and looked out, just in time to see it stop and two people step out.  The new arrivals were a slim-figured young woman, perhaps sixteen or so . . . standing beside a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing an Army uniform, moving a bit stiffly and slowly.  

“They’re early!” Felicity shrieked.  

Abandoning her plans to change, Felicity ran, as fast as her pretty [Tory Burch slingbacks](https://www.toryburch.com/isle-slingback-pump/34530.html) would allow her, down the stairs.  

“Ray!  Roy!  They’re here!” she gasped, dashing into the kitchen.  “Where’s the baby?  Roy, what’s for dinner?  And Ray--where’s Ray?” she asked, looking around wildly for her fake husband.  

“Easy, easy, Felicity,” Roy said, dropping the knife he had been using to cut vegetables.  He moved to rest his hands on her shoulders, then stopped and let them drop to his sides.  She could see the flour on his hands and appreciated his consideration in keeping his hands away from her, even as she felt her anxiety kick into high gear.  

“Ray went to the store for me--I needed some thyme.”  

Felicity blinked.  “You can get time in a store?”  

Roy opened his mouth, then closed it.  He gave a shake of his head before saying, “Dinner is [veal cutlets with a thyme butter sauce](http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/veal-cutlets-with-thyme-butter-sauce-234142), baked potatoes, and [balsamic-roasted brussel sprouts](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/balsamic-roasted-brussels-sprouts-recipe.html).”  

Thanks to her superior memory and the years she had spent working on  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ , she easily memorized the menu.  That just left one question.  “And the baby?”  

“Right here,” Roy said, gesturing to the cradle Felicity hadn’t noticed when she had stormed into the kitchen.  “Fortunately, this kid can sleep through anything.”  

The arched eyebrow he gave her made Felicity stick her tongue out at Roy.  The doorbell ringing prevented her from saying anything more to Roy.  She quickly composed herself, then walked towards the front door in a stately, elegant manner.  Like how the Felicity in her blog would answer the door.  

Just before she opened the door, Felicity quickly checked her appearance in the mirror and sighed, knowing she didn’t look anything like a housewife should.  It was too late now--and her guests were waiting for her to open the door.  

Pasting on a smile, Felicity pulled the heavy door open.  “Welcome!” she said, her eyes darting towards the young girl--Sergeant Queen’s sister--before all her attention was arrested by the man himself.  

Which really was the right word, Felicity thought to herself.  Because this was a capital-M Man standing in front of her.  She knew he was a soldier, knew he must be physically fit, but Oliver Queen . . . he was something else.  Close-cropped hair that looked brown, but might be dark blonde when it was longer.  The stubble on his cheeks and jaws couldn’t hide the impressive lines of his face.  His lips were full and appeared incredibly soft.  

Then her eyes met his and Felicity forgot everything else.  His eyes were just so blue . . . 

She watched as he slowly lifted a hand and removed his hat.  He cleared his throat and stuck his hat under one arm, before extending his free hand towards her.  “Sergeant Oliver Queen, ma’am.  We were looking for Felicity Smoak?”  

“I--I’m Felicity,” she said after a moment, barely remembering her own name.  She reached out and took his hand, the tingles that raced up her arm at the contact nearly making her gasp.

At the touch of her hand, something flared in Sergeant Queen’s eyes, something she wasn’t sure she understood.  Because it looked like attraction?  

“Ollie, it’s cold out here.”  

A young, feminine voice made Felicity realize she had been standing still, gazing up at Sergeant Queen.  Who had been gazing right back at her.  

He startled and smiled quickly before dropping Felicity’s hand.  “Yes, it is.  Can we come inside, Mrs. Smoak?”    

“Of--of course,” Felicity said, stepping back.  “Oh, and Smoak is my maiden name.  I--I’m actually Mrs. Palmer.”  She tried to sound breezy and unaffected, but she knew she wasn’t pulling it off.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”  

“I’m Thea,” the girl said, proving Felicity’s assumption correct.  Unlike her brother, Thea Queen was all fine bones and green eyes.  She held her hand out to Felicity, who happily shook it.  

“I’m so happy I could open my home to you for Christmas,” Felicity said, unable to prevent herself from glancing at Oliver as she made small talk with his sister.  

In his uniform, he was a knock-out.  It made Felicity want to say God bless America--which was not a phrase that frequently crossed her lips.  She knew she should stop staring at him, since she was supposed to be a married woman.  Really, Ray was just as impressive physically, with his athletic build.  Yet there was just something about Oliver . . . 

Oh, she was in so much trouble.

XXX

Oh, he was in so much trouble.  So he really didn’t need his sister to point that out to him.  

“Ollie, c’mon, just admit that you like the look of Felicity,” Thea said, draping herself over his bed as Oliver unpacked his suitcase.  

“Whether I do or not, she’s married and we’re guests, Speedy,” Oliver replied, glancing at Thea in time to see her react to the nickname he had given her as a toddler.  

Other than a wrinkled nose, Thea didn’t respond to his attempt at distracting her from his reaction to Felicity Smoak, aka Mrs. Palmer.  

That made him want to wrinkle his nose.  Because . . . the woman he had met didn’t seem like the type to call herself Mrs. Palmer.  For one thing, she looked like someone who would hyphenate her name.  Everything about her, in fact, was contrary to what he had imagined.  In his head, he had pictured a woman in her early thirties.  A warm, homey type, someone who would be equally comfortable wearing boots to tromp through muddy fields and a pair of low, sensible heels as she served an elegant dinner to her hard-working husband.  

“Ugh, Ollie, I can tell you like her,” Thea said, rolling over and sitting up.  “I know we’re guests, but you’d have to be blind and deaf to miss the tension between you two.”  

Oliver wasn’t sure when Thea had developed this romantic streak, but she was still as opinionated and headstrong as ever.  

“I was just . . . surprised,” he said, revealing part of the truth to his sister.  “She wasn’t what I expected.”  

“Me, neither,” Thea said.  “Those were Tory Burch slingbacks she was wearing.  Not what I pictured a farmer’s wife wearing.”  

While Oliver knew nothing about fashion, he had noticed Felicity’s shoes: the high heels, the flamboyant beading over the top of her foot that highlighted the simplicity of her navy dress.  Oh, that dress.  It fit her perfectly, skimming over her curves and revealing a flash of pale, creamy skin at her lower back when she had turned around to show them to their rooms.  

That was even before he got to her face.  Her intriguing, alluring face: blonde hair caught up in a ponytail, two-tone glasses unable to hide the brilliance of her blue eyes, and lips painted an eye-catching pink.  They were enough to make a man’s gaze linger on her full, pouty mouth and wonder what her lips would taste like . . . 

Giving his head a shake, Oliver closed his suitcase and zipped it up.  He put it in the bottom of the closet, moving slowly in deference to his still-healing ribs.  “Speedy, all I care about this weekend is spending time with you and hopefully getting Felicity on my side with this discharge thing.  The sooner the Army cuts me loose, the sooner I can start giving you a real home.”  

Thea rose up from the bed and walked over to him.  “Ollie, you are so silly.  As long as I have you, I have a home.  You should be thinking about yourself--finding a job, finding a girl, things like that.  Starting this new chapter in your life.”  

The way his sister was looking up at him, so convinced that he could start over, made Oliver feel a wave of pride and happiness.  She truly was the best of their family.  

“Thank you, Speedy,” he said, kissing the top of her head.  “Why don’t we go downstairs and see if we can help any with dinner?”

“If we wanted to be good guests, we’d avoid the kitchen.  At least, I should,” Thea said, grinning up at him.  

Laughing quietly, Oliver wrapped an arm around Thea’s shoulders.  “I bet you’re better than you realize.  And besides, maybe Felicity would like some company while she cooks.  Remember how it was with Raisa?”

Thea smiled fondly at Oliver’s mention of their family housekeeper.  “I spent hours talking to her.  And she always listened, no matter how much she had to do.”  

“Me, too,” Oliver said, as he escorted his sister downstairs towards the kitchen.  “She made our house a home.  That’s what I want for us.”  

“You’ll do it, Ollie, I know it,” Thea said, smiling up at him just before they stepped into the kitchen.  Then she turned and bestowed an even brighter smile on Roy, the intern who was helping Felicity with the cooking.  “Hello again.”  

Oliver didn’t really like the interest his sister was showing in the young man--or the interest he was showing in her.  Clearing his throat, he asked, “Where’s Mrs. Palmer?”  

“She went to change,” Roy said, his attention entirely too caught by Oliver’s baby sister.  

The thoughts that went through his mind at such an announcement were entirely inappropriate, so Oliver searched for something to distract himself.  The cradle near the breakfast nook was just what the doctor ordered: how better to ignore inappropriate thoughts about a woman than by looking at her baby?   

Walking over, Oliver bent down, looking at the sturdy-looking baby in the cradle.  Wearing a dark blue onesie, the baby looked to be about a year old, with plump arms and legs.  Blonde curls framed its face, with its chubby cheeks and bright brown eyes.  

“Merry Christmas, little one,” Oliver whispered, smiling.  He could remember when Thea had been this age, with bright, inquisitive eyes.  Eyes that looked at him and seemed to know he was her brother.  

The baby kicked its legs and burbled, reaching its arms up to him.  With a smile, Oliver complied, scooping up the baby and cuddling it to his chest.  The baby immediately began playing with the colored ribbons of his medals and service awards.  

“Oh!”  

His heart leapt at the sound of Felicity’s--no, Mrs. Palmer’s--voice, yet there was something in her tone that made him feel like he had done something wrong.  Turning towards her, he swallowed.  “I’m sorry, do you not like people picking up your baby?  You’ve never mentioned that on your blog, and the little one seemed a bit lonesome.”  

Mrs. Palmer, now dressed in a simple cardigan and a full skirt, her fancy high heels exchanged for flats, looked absolutely dazed.  Oliver wasn’t sure why, so he took a step towards her, keeping a firm grip on the squirming baby.  “Mrs. Palmer?” he asked, reaching out to touch her elbow.

The touch of his fingers against her skin made her come back to herself--as well as renewed that strange sensation which coursed through his body at any contact with her.  

“I--it’s fine--the baby looked lonesome?”  Mrs. Palmer’s voice was high-pitched and she stumbled over her words, making Oliver tilt his head at her strange behavior.  

“Yes, I thought so . . . maybe it’s just because it’s close to bathtime.  Reading your post about how special it is to bathe your baby was very touching,” Oliver said, hoping it didn’t sound odd to talk about her bathing her baby.  “It reminded me of when Thea was little and I helped my mother take care of her.”  

Thea, deep in conversation with Roy, didn’t even notice Oliver talking about her.  Mrs. Palmer, meanwhile, was still staring at him.  “You . . . you like babies, Sergeant Queen?” she finally asked.  

“I suppose I do,” Oliver said with a small smile.  He reached down and moved the baby’s hand from his ribbons.  “Thea’s ten years younger than me, and I liked helping to take care of her.  Once you get the hang of it, it never really leaves you.  Once I had to help with a bunch of orphans my unit found while on maneuvers, and I wound up being called پلار by all the kids.”  A bit sheepishly, he explained, “That means ‘daddy’ in Pashto.”

That fact made Felicity give him an absolutely delighted, charming smile.  “That’s so sweet,” she said softly.  

Ducking his head, Oliver smiled.  She thought he was sweet.  It wasn’t an adjective often applied to him.

“I suppose you changed for bath time,” Oliver said after a moment, raising her head to look at her.  “You said that you always bathe the baby around this time of night.  Oh, and what’s the baby’s name?”  

“The . . . baby’s name,” Felicity said slowly.  “Oh, yes, I did change for bath time.  And this is little Sam.  After--after Ray’s father.”  

Oliver smiled at her.  “It’s a good name.  I don’t suppose you could use some help with giving Sam his bath?”  

Honestly, he wanted to help her, because she seemed a bit overwhelmed.  He remembered how slippery and squirmy Thea had been during her baths, and how much his mother appreciated help.  Yet he had suggested it, because he wanted to spend time with Felicity.  With Mrs. Palmer.  

She inhaled deeply, a hand raising to adjust her glasses.  “You want to help?  I mean, you wouldn’t mind?”  

Smiling, he shook his head.  “I wouldn’t mind at all.”  

Her hand reached out and took his free arm and, with another one of those amazing smiles, Felicity drew him out of the kitchen.  She paused for a moment, looking a bit confused, then moved towards a guest bathroom on the second floor.  She popped her head into the room before she stepped inside.  “Here we are!” she said, sounding relieved as she began filling the baby bathtub, placed on top of the sink.  “This should have everything we need.”  

“Well, then, you undress him and I’ll get ready,” Oliver said, handing Sam over to Felicity.  As she fumbled with the baby’s onesie, Oliver slipped off his uniform jacket and rolled up his sleeves.  He dipped his elbow into the bathwater to test the temperature, then turned to see how Felicity was doing.  When he saw how awkwardly Felicity was handling the baby, Oliver felt confused.  Maybe Sam was more restless than normal due to the strangers in the house?  

“Let me help you,” Oliver said, lifting Sam out of her arms.  “He must feel unsettled with having new people around, right?”

“Oh . . . um, yes,” Felicity said as Oliver held the naked child against his chest.  

Carefully, Oliver slid the baby into the water.  He supported Sam’s head as he searched around the bathtub for the soap.  Felicity stepped up beside him.  “Where’s the sponge?” Oliver asked, finding the soap and dipping it into the water.  

“Oh--we--we don’t use one, it’s not hygienic,” Felicity said, handing him a washcloth.  

“Ah, I see,” Oliver said, beginning to gently scrub Sam.  But then, looking down, he did a double-take.  

“The baby’s name . . . is Sam?” Oliver asked.  

Felicity seemed confused by the question, until she followed his line of sight.  “Short for Samantha!” she blurted out.  

“Of course,” Oliver said, still feeling confused.  He went back to washing the baby as he tried to figure this out.  How could a woman not know what sex her baby was?  

There was only the sound of the water splashing and the baby’s gurgles, and the mood was suddenly much too domestic and intimate for Oliver’s liking.  

“I . . . I don’t see much of you in the baby,” Oliver said slowly.  “Does she take after your husband?”

She waved a hand in a dismissive way.  “Oh, God no.”

XXX

Like her bottom was on fire, Felicity dashed into the kitchen.  As soon as the door closed behind her, she slumped against it.  “Please tell me you’re going to come help me,” she asked Roy as he moved from the refrigerator to the stove.  

“Just as soon as I’ve finished these [crème brûlées](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/creme-brulee-recipe.html),” Roy said distractedly.  He glanced at her, then paused, taking a longer look.  “You look frazzled.”  

“Understatement, Harper--massive understatement,” Felicity said, pushing off from the door and walking over towards him.  She watched as he began torching the top of each individual serving of crème brûlée.  

“Mr. Diggle is so quiet.  He asks me a question and then just sits there as I talk and talk and talk, and he doesn’t say anything, not even when I’m babbling and clearly need someone to rescue me,” Felicity continued, sighing as she reflected over tonight’s dinner.  

Her editor had arrived just before dinner, full of compliments about how charming the Christmas tree farm was, how lovely her home was, and how kind she was to host Sergeant Queen and his sister.  Then, though, the man got quiet, observing and listening more than he spoke.  The only other details he let slip was the fact that he had two children, a boy and a girl, and that he had served in the Army like Sergeant Queen.  

That wasn’t to say their dinner was silent.  No, Ray made sure of that.  Felicity winced as she remembered all the things her erstwhile husband had said during the meal.

_ “Palmer Technology is on the cutting edge--no, it’s beyond the cutting edge!  I tell you, I walk through our labs and I feel like I’ve beamed myself up to the Starship Enterprise.  You know, like on Star Trek?  None of you watch it?  Oh, you should!  That’s where I’m taking Palmer Tech!” _

_ “Just think, next Christmas, everyone will want to get the new wearable technology that Palmer Tech is creating.  Felicity’s a lucky woman: she already knows she won’t have to wait to see if it’s under the Christmas tree; I’ll let her have a prototype to test out.  Would anyone else like a prototype when they’re available?” _

_ “Everything I know about business, I’ve learned first-hand.  What’s the point in reading some Business for Dummies book?  I’m no dummy!  Not--not that I’m claiming those books are only for dummies.  I mean, there’s something to be said for making things as simple as possible.  But I like complicated things.”   _

_ “I could never see myself writing a book about business.  It’d be like Felicity writing a book about something other than her blog!  But I will say, I have written a few personal essays that could be expanded into a memoir, someday.  Really touching stuff, if I do say so myself.” _

It had been all she could do to not snap at Ray over how he was showing off.  Since she was seated at the other end of the table, she had no secret way to remind him of who he was supposed to be: her partner in running the farm they were currently living on.  The farm about which they were both supposed to be experts.  Meanwhile, Ray was remarkably blind to her glares and silent urgings to get back on topic.  

Blowing out a breath, Felicity tucked a lock of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear.  If it was just Ray bothering her, she would be able to deal with it.  Yet it wasn’t just him.  

No, it was Oliver, too, who was bothering her.  In a very different way from Ray.  

He wasn’t that different from Mr. Diggle, with that ability to watch a room and be silent, while still remaining part of the conversation.  So often tonight, she had glanced at him to get his reaction to something Ray had said, to see what he thought about a statement she had made.  

Felicity straightened up to fix her hair.  Oliver Queen was the most amazing man she had ever met, and she just couldn’t stop thinking about him.  It was a problem, since she was supposed to be married.  Not just married, but the perfect wife and mother and housekeeper--none of which she was.  

Once her hair was done, she looked at Roy.  “Can I help with anything?”

“Wash the berries and then pick some leaves off that mint plant,” Roy said, gesturing towards the window over the sink.  

Doing as she was told--she might not be able to cook, but she could wash food and figure out which plant was mint--Felicity brought everything over to Roy.  She watched as he effortlessly plated everything, making the desserts look like something out of a cookbook.  

“Roy, I really am grateful that you’re here,” Felicity said.  

“I know you are,” he said, glancing at her as he carefully adjusted the raspberries on one of the crème brûlées.  “I’m glad I’m here, too.  If only to watch how everything blows up in your face.”  

Sputtering, unable to form a complete word, Felicity stared at her assistant.  With a smirk, Roy finished his work and leaned back against the counter.

“You know it’s all gonna fall apart, right?  I mean, it’s crazy, trying to pull this thing off.  And that’s even before we get to the little problem of how you’re making heart eyes at Oliver Queen.”  

“I--I was--there were no heart eyes!” Felicity countered weakly.  

Although . . . what better way was there to describe how she looked at Oliver?  Every interaction she had with him made him more intriguing to her.  Meeting him, seeing how he was with his sister, watching him bathe that baby, taking in his quiet, unshowy confidence . . . she really wished she wasn’t supposed to be married.  Because if she wasn’t, she would totally be making a play for Oliver before some other girl snapped him up.  He was a war hero!  He was handsome and kind and charming!  He was just perfect.  

Roy just nodded smugly and started moving the ramekins onto a tray.  “You say that, but you know it’s true.  This is gonna explode:  it’s only a matter of when--not if, Felicity.”  

Throwing her hands up in the air, Felicity snapped, “Then why are you here, Roy?”

“To see it all happen--and to support you as long as you can pull this off,” he said with a grin, before coming over to her and taking her hands.  “Look, I know I’ve been pulling your leg, but I do want to give you the help you need.  After all, if this goes south, I’m out of a job, too.  But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep telling you that if you get through this, it’ll be by luck alone.”  

Felicity huffed out a breath and nodded.  She knew Roy was right:  this whole scheme was crazy.  But she had to try, didn’t she?  They had gotten through the first day relatively unscathed, at least.  There was just tomorrow, which was Christmas Eve, and then part of Christmas Day.  Mr. Diggle would be leaving around noon to catch his plane back to New York, and the Queen siblings would leave shortly thereafter.  

There was just another thirty-six hours.  She could do this.  And if Roy was going to tease her in exchange for his help, she would just have to accept it.  Although . . . it didn’t mean she couldn’t give as good as she got.  

“Fine,” she said, pulling her hands free of his.  “I get what you’re saying, Roy.  And I know I don’t know much about what goes on in the kitchen, but let me just say: the pot is calling the kettle black.”  

Roy looked like an Abercrombie model the vast majority of the time, but the resemblance was heightened when he was confused, like right now.  “Huh?”  

“I’ve seen how you look at Thea Queen,” Felicity told him with an arched eyebrow.  “ _ Et tu, Brute _ ?”

If Roy felt a tenth of the satisfaction she felt at seeing him visibly flail at her accusation, Felicity understood why he was teasing her.  Giving him a big smile, she lifted up the tray with the crème brûlées.  “I’ll just go serve these now.  They look wonderful, Roy.”  

Keeping her smile in place, Felicity carried the tray towards the door, using her hip to open it up.  Her last look at Roy saw him standing stock-still, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.  

It was hard not to laugh, but somehow Felicity held back.

XXX

As quietly as he could, in order to not disturb Thea, Oliver sat up in bed and punched his pillow to make it more comfortable. He laid down again, but he felt too hot under the covers.  He kicked them off, but shivered at the chill washing over him.  

When his stomach growled, Oliver officially gave up on sleep.  Sitting up carefully, he hunted for his slippers and robe, pulling them on.  He pulled the door shut slowly, making sure it didn’t click, and then headed for the staircase.  

The wooden stairs creaked under his feet in a homey way.  He liked it.  It wasn’t like the lavishly sterile home he had grown up in with Thea.  No, this seemed like a real home.  

Approaching the swinging door into the kitchen, Oliver was surprised to see a line of light around the door.  Who else was up?  Could it be the intern Roy?  Or possibly Ray Palmer?  Or . . . could it be Felicity?   

Almost holding his breath, he pushed the door open.  “Oh.  Mr. Diggle, sir,” he said, trying to ignore his disappointment at seeing anyone other than Felicity.  

“Sergeant,” the imposing man said with a nod.  “Join me in a raid?”  He smiled and gestured to the food spread out before him.

With a soft chuckle, Oliver nodded, walking over to take a seat at the island.  “You wouldn’t think I’d be hungry, after such a great dinner, but I’m still catching up after those twelve days in a hole in the ground.”  

“Well, perhaps you’re not hungry--perhaps you just need something to help you sleep,” Mr. Diggle said, as he held up a bottle of wine.  “Some nice chilled Chablis?”  

“Yes, thank you,” Oliver said, taking one of the glasses that was drying in the dish rack by the sink.  “And perhaps you’re right.  I was having trouble sleeping.”  

Mr. Diggle eyed him as he filled Oliver’s glass.  “I was, too.  It’s always different, when you’re sleeping in a new place.  Trying to feel comfortable.”  

“It is,” Oliver said, filling his plate with cold chicken and leftover brussel sprouts from tonight’s dinner.  He looked at Mr. Diggle as he ate his first few bites of food.  For some reason, Oliver didn’t think Mr. Diggle was having trouble sleeping because he was in a new place.  No, he thought there was something else going on with Felicity’s book editor.  

First, though, he was going to enjoy his midnight snack.  He sipped his wine, finding it was the perfect complement to the food.  “You picked a good wine,” he said to Mr. Diggle.

“Thank you,” Mr. Diggle said with a chuckle.  “After I got out of the Army, I was in private security for a few years.  I picked up a lot about food and drink during that time.”  

“How did you end up as a book editor?” Oliver asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.  

He shrugged.  “I wanted to do something different.  Something less dangerous, since my wife had just had our second child.  A friend of mine was starting a publishing company and he brought me on board, letting me start at the bottom.  Now I’ve worked myself up to this point.”  

Oliver thought that over as he kept eating.  The fight with the Army over his discharge had occupied his mind ever since he had returned stateside.  It had pushed aside the question of what he was going to do once he wasn’t in the Army anymore.  It was true private security was an option for him, or working for a defense contractor.  Yet Oliver wasn’t sure he wanted to do that.  After five years in the military, it seemed like the time to try civilian life.  To get away from what he had done in Afghanistan and discover what kind of man he really was.  

“You must be considering what’s next for you,” Mr. Diggle said after a few moments.  “Are you planning to stay in the service?”  

“No, I’m not,” Oliver said, shaking his head.  “I’d be on desk duty, and that’s not what I want.  And I want to be there for my sister, before it’s too late.”  

“If I can offer any advice, feel free to ask anytime,” Mr. Diggle said generously.  “I’ll give you my card so you can contact me after the holidays.”  

It was a kind offer and Oliver appreciated it.  He made that known to Mr. Diggle, who nodded with a warm smile on his face.  

“It’s my pleasure, Sergeant.  Now, please pass me the brussel sprouts.  If only my mother could hear me say that,” he said with a chuckle.  

With a laugh, he complied with Mr. Diggle’s request.  “My mother would be equally shocked, Mr. Diggle.  Mrs. Palmer certainly has a magic touch with food.”  

“Call me John.  And she certainly does,” Mr. Diggle agreed as he added some more brussel sprouts to his plate.  

“At first, I was a little leery about meeting her,” Oliver shared as he considered whether to finish off the brussel sprouts.  “The photos on her blog posts are so amazing, and you read her posts and you think, it can’t be that good.  But now that I’ve tried the food she cooks, I’m convinced.”  

“Hmm, yes,” John said, not looking up from his plate.  Oliver glanced at the older man, but he didn’t say anything and Oliver returned to eating.  Then, just as he ate the last bite of food on his plate, John asked, “What’s your impression of Mr. and Mrs. Palmer?”  

It was all Oliver could do not to do a spit-take.  Why would John be asking him what he thought about the Palmers?  Was John just looking for another opinion?  Or had Oliver been too obvious in his appreciation for Mrs. Palmer?  Even though they had been apart for five years, Thea knew him--the fact that she had spotted his interest wasn’t a big deal.  But if a complete stranger like John Diggle could see that Oliver was attracted to Felicity Smoak--to Mrs. Palmer--

Before he let his thoughts spiral into blind panic, Oliver took a deep breath and then sipped his wine.  “They seem happy to me.  Why do you ask?”

“I just thought things seemed a bit strained between them at dinner.  Mrs. Palmer was wearing a look on her face I’ve seen on my wife’s--usually when she wants to strangle me,” John said.  “Perhaps there was some tension over having guests for Christmas.  Which is mostly my fault, I admit.  When I found out about the social media campaign surrounding your proposed visit, I encouraged Felicity to invite you and your sister.  I even finagled myself onto the invitation.”

“I see,” he said slowly, still wondering if John was trying to tell Oliver he had been too obvious in watching Mrs. Palmer.  

“I hope you don’t mind, but for the sake of some publicity, I was hoping to get a few pictures of you with Felicity and Ray tomorrow night, at the village Christmas dance,” John said.  

Earlier today, one of the village aldermen had stopped by, inviting everyone to the local Christmas dance.  The offer had been primarily extended to Oliver, to honor him as a returning war hero.  It had flustered him, but Oliver couldn’t think of a reason to refuse.  In a thought that sounded eerily like Laurel, it might also help his case with his discharge.  So Oliver had accepted and now they were attending a dance tomorrow after Christmas Eve dinner.  

“That sounds fine,” Oliver said, watching as John chased the last brussel sprout on his plate.  Finally spearing it, he lifted it to his mouth and chewed slowly, his eyes on Oliver.  

It was all he could do not to wiggle in his seat, but somehow Oliver stayed still, doing his best to act nonchalant as he sipped the last of his wine.  Then, with his plate cleared and his glass empty, Oliver stood up.  

“I think I’m going to try sleeping.  Thanks for the food and conversation, John.”  

“You’re welcome, Oliver,” John said as he joined Oliver in placing his dishes in the sink.  “I’ll take care of the dishes, since I was the one who started this.  Good night.”  

Nodding, Oliver turned and headed for the stairs.  Once he was in the hall, the draft made him shiver and pull his robe closer around himself.  His warm, comfortable bed was a lot more appealing now.  

Even with John’s question in his head about the Palmers’ marriage, Oliver felt ready for sleep.  Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

XXX

Felicity had never lived outside of a city: she had grown up in Las Vegas, gone to college in Boston, and then moved to Starling City after graduation.  So it was a surprise to discover how accurately her algorithm had described small town life.  At least, judging from the local village hall, it was.  

The invitation to the Christmas dance had thrown her at first.  Why would a village alderman come personally with an invitation to the dance?  Shouldn’t they have more important things to do?  Yet after an hour mingling with the villagers, she realized that no, the alderman hadn’t had more important things to do.  The big hot button issue that was infecting the sleepy hamlet of Astra was whether Main Street and Broad Street should be reconfigured to each be two-way streets, instead of currently both being one-way.  

In the past, a focus on such a small issue would have drawn her scorn.  Yet Felicity found it to be more charming and engaging than she had expected.  People argued with such passion for their point of view, citing tradition and history, yes--but also displaying an awareness of their community that eclipsed Felicity’s knowledge of the cities where she had lived.  

Also, maybe her feelings had changed because it was thanks to the Christmas Eve dance that she got the chance to wear the [sweater dress](http://www.trinaturk.com/sass-sweater-dress/TD160901.html) she had thrown into her suitcase at the last minute--a sweater dress that showed her legs to good advantage, if Oliver’s reaction was anything to judge by.  

Not that Oliver’s reaction was the one she should be paying attention to . . . 

“Mrs. Palmer, I thought you might like a glass of punch.”  

Mr. Diggle’s voice at her elbow made her turn around and give him a smile.  “Thank you.  But you don’t have to keep calling me Mrs. Palmer,” she told him as she accepted one of the glasses from him.  “Felicity is fine.”  

“Well, then, you should call me John,” he said with a smile.  “This is a charming little event.  I suppose you and your husband have come to it before?”  

“O-of course,” Felicity stuttered, a chill falling over her as she remembered the lie she had been living since yesterday.  “And yes, it is very charming.  It’s part of why Ray and I live here.”  

“It must be difficult for your husband, running a company like Palmer Tech while commuting all the way to Starling City every day,” John said, eyeing her over the rim of his glass.  

Gripping her glass tightly, Felicity hoped her smile didn’t look as pasted-on as it felt.  “Ray is just as committed to the simple pleasures as I am.  Even with running a technology-related company.”  

That made John lower his glass.  “I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything, Felicity,” he said, his voice mild and even-tempered.  “Just making an observation.”  

“I didn’t mean to accuse you!” Felicity blurted, setting down her glass of punch before she spilled it everywhere.  “I’m sorry, things with Ray and I . . . well, we’re really trying to do Christmas right for little Samantha, and, and, you’re a father, you know what that’s like, right?”  

“I am,” he said, resting his large hand on her shoulder.  “So let me say you two seem to be doing just fine.  You should enjoy yourself tonight, since Roy was kind enough to stay back and babysit.”  John glanced around.  “I haven’t seen young Thea around either.”  

“I think she was feeling a little under the weather,” Felicity said.  “What a shame--to be sick on Christmas, you know?”  

John nodded.  “It is a shame!  Hopefully she’ll be recovered in time for tomorrow.”  

“I hope so, too,” Felicity said.  She picked up her glass and gave John a big smile.  “I’m going to mingle a bit.”  

“I’ll see you later, then,” he said, raising his glass to her.

Returning his nod, Felicity quickly whirled away, moving towards the other side of the room.  She plucked at the fringe on her dress, worrying it as she looked for someplace to catch her breath and quiet her ruffled mind.  

She just wanted a minute to herself, when she didn’t have to pretend she celebrated Christmas, when she didn’t have to lie about being married and having a baby, when she didn’t have to fake expertise she didn’t have.  She wanted a moment to be herself: Felicity Smoak, Vegas girl, nerd, fan of lo mein and pizza and other foods brought to her door in paper boxes.  

Thank God they had managed to keep who she was supposed to be on the down-low from the villagers, or else she would have already gone crazy.  

A dark corner behind the Christmas tree beckoned to her, and Felicity quickly and carefully made her way towards it.  Slipping behind the tree, she took a deep breath of pine and then sipped her punch.  Although it wasn’t spiked, the cranberry-orange concoction was tasty.  The shot of sugar and spices, combined with the pleasing aroma, helped calm her down and made her feel better.  

Really, things were going very well.  Yes, John still put her on edge with his questions and his knowing looks.  Ray was still being a pest towards John, asking him about publishing a self-penned memoir.  But the baby had been a little angel all day, Roy had gracefully handled breakfast, lunch and dinner while letting her take the credit, and Oliver . . . 

Just the thought of him made her eyes seek him out in the crowded village hall.  They hadn’t spent much time together today, since technically she was supposed to be preparing three elaborate meals.  It was probably for the best, because as devastating as Oliver was in a uniform?  He was even more drop-dead gorgeous in jeans, boots and a henley.  Because that kind of clothing really highlighted how amazing his body was, even more than his uniform did.  

Her body still tingled from the moment they had shared in the upper hallway, when she had stepped out of her room after ‘freshening up’ before lunch--actually, she had been playing Candy Crush and not thinking about everything blowing up in her face.

_ Felicity stepped out of her room, hurrying towards the back stairs.  If she went that way, no one would know she had sneaked away from the kitchen for a sanity break.  But just as she turned the corner to go down the stairs, she collided with someone.  A very warm, very firm, very male someone.   _

_ Her breath caught as she looked up.  “Oliver!” _

_ “Felicity,” he said, his voice deep and raspy.  His hands gripped her elbows, steadying her on her heels, and it was all she could do not to lean in and breathe deeply, to see if that faint scent of pine was coming from him . . .  _

Pulling herself out of her memories, Felicity took in what Oliver was doing.  He was surrounded by a circle of admirers--mostly women, but a few grizzled men were part of the group, listening to Oliver talk.  Felicity admired how he worked the crowd, making eye contact with everyone, turning this way and that to answer individual questions.  It made her wonder if he had always been so charming and gregarious, or if he had learned those skills.  She didn’t know much about his past . . . but she wanted to know.  She wanted to know everything there was to know about Oliver Queen.

“Felicity!  Why are you hiding back there?”  

Ray’s hissed question made Felicity nearly jump out of her shoes.  As it was, she was lucky the punch she spilled hit the floor and not said shoes.  

“Ray!” she snapped, glaring at him.  “Isn’t it obvious why I’m back here?”

His big brown eyes filled with confusion.  “Um, no?”  

“I am hiding from you,” she said, advancing towards him.  “I am taking a moment for myself, when I don’t have to worry about what self-aggrandizing remark you’ll make next.  I get that you’re doing this as a favor to me, but could you please remember who you’re supposed to be?  My loving husband, the man who is an equal partner in our farm--in our life?  Maybe talk about our baby once in a while, or give me a compliment, or just talk about anything other than Palmer Technology?”

The longer she talked, the more Felicity knew what she was saying was unforgivable.  Even if he was just her friend, she was being much too harsh on Ray.  But since she sensed he had feelings for her, this was just being cruel.  

Although maybe this would crush those feelings, leaving her free and open . . . 

Felicity pushed aside the thought and made herself focus on Ray.  “Ray--Ray, I’m sorry, that was too much--”

He held a hand up towards her.  “Don’t--don’t say anything.”  She could see the the impact of her hurtful words in his bowed head and slumped shoulders.  Silently, Ray turned and walked away.  She saw him leave the hall, which made her slump back against the wall.  Looking up at the ceiling, she felt tears prick her eyes, but ruthlessly willed them back.

If she was all alone now, she was going to do what she had wanted to do from the moment she had stepped into this village hall, with its Christmas trees and holiday table linens and red and white poinsettias.  

Opening her purse, she pulled out her lipstick and applied some more.  She shook out her hair a little, then squared her shoulders.  Once she stepped out from behind the Christmas tree, she made a beeline for Oliver and his bevy of admirers.  Felicity paused behind him and lightly tapped him on the shoulder.  

Oliver turned around, his whole face brightening.  “Mrs. Palmer.”  

“Would you like to dance, Sergeant Queen?”

XXX

Ever since his conversation with John last night, Oliver had been contemplating what his future would hold.  It wasn’t that such thoughts hadn’t been filling his head ever since he had begun recuperating from his injuries--they had.  When he started reading  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ , the idea of having a family and a home of his own had become more and more attractive.  Yet those musings had been fuzzy around the edges, lacking clarity.  It had all seemed more like ‘someday’ wishes.  

Now, those dreams were becoming very clear and very precise.  He could see himself working hard every day, building and growing and making things.  He wanted to do something with his hands, something that was about creation, not destruction.  

It seemed a worthy goal.  A goal he could achieve.  And if, in his heart of hearts, he imagined one particular woman by his side . . . well, no one had to know about that.

“Sergeant Queen, do you think America shoulda ever gone to Afghanistan?” asked an older man, one with stooped shoulders under his plaid shirt and suit jacket.  “I was in Vietnam in the early days, and getting more troops involved was the worst thing we coulda done.  Lemme tell you--”

“Oh, Bob, let the poor boy talk about something other than war,” a woman by his side said, gently slapping Bob on the shoulder.  “Sergeant Queen, how do you like Astra?”

Oliver smiled a little, grateful for the save.  Because the woman was right: he didn’t really want to talk about war.  As the guest of honor, though, complete with an embarrassing presentation at the start of the dance, he had felt beholden to talk to the village’s residents, including the war veterans.  

“I haven’t seen much of the town, but everyone here is very friendly,” Oliver told her.  “I feel very welcomed tonight.”  

The woman smiled brightly.  “That’s what we’re all about in Astra: being friendly.  It’s why we live out here.”  

Before Oliver could reply, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder.  As soon as he caught sight of Felicity, he knew he was smiling at her.  Because now the whole night was looking up.  

“Mrs. Palmer,” he said, hearing how deep his voice had gotten.

Her eyes flashed, then she lifted her chin.  “Would you like to dance, Sergeant Queen?”

It was all he could do to keep his smile from falling.  He wasn’t much of a dancer.  Thanks to his mother, he had taken classes when he was growing up, so he was perfectly competent when doing the waltz.  But it wasn’t something Oliver really enjoyed doing.  Yet . . . Felicity was asking him to dance.  

“Yes, I’d love to,” he found himself saying.  He nodded to the group of people near him, then stepped forward to take Mrs. Palmer into his arms.  Then they were moving, gliding together in time with the music, not even bumping into any of the other couples on the floor.  

Which was surprising.  He thought things might be a little awkward at first, yet . . . from the moment they began dancing, they were in perfect sync.  It was like something out of a fairy tale and Oliver wasn’t sure why or how it was happening, but it made him want to put the brakes on this.  On this whole strange collection of feelings he felt for Felicity.  For Mrs. Palmer.

Feelings that were growing stronger the longer they danced together without any conversation.

“You dance very well, Mrs. Palmer,” he finally said, in order to break the silence.

“Thank you, Sergeant Queen,” she said, a catch in her voice.  Something that made her sound surprised but thrilled.  Or maybe it was just his imagination, a case of wishful thinking.

Another silence fell between them as Oliver gave himself a mental dressing-down, in the voice of his basic training instructor.  He needed to remember that Felicity was married, to a man who was successful, rich, and clearly determined to give Felicity everything she wanted.  All Oliver had in common with Ray Palmer was that last quality.  And since he doubted she wanted him to break up her marriage, Oliver just had to keep remembering she was taken.  

This was just a dance.  He could keep things friendly between them.  He had been friends with a woman before . . . hadn’t he?  Oliver wracked his memory, feeling dismayed when he came up short.  He supposed Laurel might be a friend, although he hadn’t talked to her since their last meeting, a week and a half ago.  

Well, he might not have ever been friends with a woman before, but he  _ could _ be friends with a woman.  He could start with Felicity.  

“If you don’t mind me asking, I was wondering . . .” he began, before he paused.  Not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because he had too much to say.  He had so many questions about her.

“What?” Felicity asked, looking up at him as they moved across the floor.  

“How did you start your blog?”  There, that was a good, friendly question.  “I mean, did you and Ray already have the farm and you decided you wanted to write about your lives together?”  

Underneath his hand on her back, her muscles tensed.  It made Oliver curious, but perhaps it was more because he had just had to move them suddenly in order to avoid another couple.

“That’s it, really,” Felicity said with a slightly rigid smile.  “I started playing around with different recipes, while also adjusting to living on a farm, and I wanted to talk about what I was learning.”  

“Well, you’ve certainly done that--and by sharing, you’ve taught people a lot,” Oliver said.  “I’m looking forward to being able to try out some of the recipes you’ve featured.”  

“You’ll have to tell me how they turn out.  They’re bound to be better than my first attempts,” Felicity laughed.

Oliver chuckled as well.  “Oh, I doubt that.  I grew up watching my family’s housekeeper cook, but she never let anyone get near the stove.”  

For the rest of the dance--and then blending into the next two--the conversation came easily for them.  They talked about food, and Oliver’s relationship with his sister, and how Felicity had always wished for a sibling.  It felt nice, to just talk with someone--someone he wanted to know more about--without worrying about the typical dating nonsense.  Was he moving too fast or too slow, what was she looking for, would she object if he asked her back to his place?  None of those questions even crossed his mind, because talking was all they could do together.  

Slowly, Oliver realized that they were barely dancing--and in fact, they were interfering with the flow of the other dancers, since the dance floor was so small.  The village hall had gotten more crowded as the evening had gone on; combined with the large fir trees decorated for the holidays and plenty of electric candles, the room was stuffy and hot.  

As if she had read his mind, Felicity waved her hand in front of her face.  “Wow, this place is packed,” she said, her quick movements stirring her hair.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Oliver said.  “Perhaps we could go outside for a few minutes?”  

It was only after the words were out of his mouth that he knew how they might sound.  Like he was trying to get her alone for nefarious reasons.  But Felicity gave no sign she was thinking along those lines, which was a relief.  

“Some cold, fresh air sounds great,” she said with a smile.  “Let me just go find my coat.”  

Oliver did the same and then stood by the doors of the hall, watching the people filling the room.  A few people smiled or waved at him, and he returned their greetings with a smile and a nod of his head.  This was different from how he had been brought up, in a house that was remote from anything and anyone, and Oliver liked feeling like he was part of a community.  

While he waited, he checked his phone to see if Thea had called or texted, but there was nothing from his baby sister.  He still wasn’t a hundred percent sure her illness was anything more than an excuse to spend time with Roy, but what Oliver  _ was  _ sure about was Roy’s knowledge of what Oliver would do to him if he took advantage of Thea, thanks to a conversation he had with the young man after breakfast.  

In a minute, Felicity was by his side, a white coat draped over her arm.  “Here I am,” she said brightly.  

“Great,” Oliver said, opening the door for her.  

As soon as they both stepped outside, they pulled on their coats.  There were a few inches of snow on the ground--unusual for eastern Washington at this time of year, according to the local residents--but it certainly made everything feel more like Christmas, Oliver thought.  He took a deep breath and then exhaled, his breath escaping in a white cloud.  

“Oh, it feels so much better out here,” Felicity said, walking slowly away from the building.  

He followed her, of course.  If only to make sure nothing happened to her, given her impractical shoes and the snow and--well, no.  He just wanted to be with her.  

“It does,” he said, still breathing deeply.  They stood side-by-side, gazing out at the village before them.  A few homes had softly-burning lights, yet the only real illumination came from the building behind them.  It was a peaceful scene, like something out of a movie, and Oliver found himself so thankful for everything and everyone that had brought him here.  

“Oh, look!  A horse-drawn sleigh!”  Felicity sounded thrilled at her discovery, and before Oliver could say anything in reply, she was moving towards the vehicle.  “C’mon, Oliver!”

XXX

Being Jewish, Felicity only knew about most Christmas traditions from movies or TV shows.  She had never been one of those kids who wanted a Christmas tree or celebrated Chrismukkah.  Yet . . . the idea of sitting in a horse-drawn sleigh had always appealed to her.  It might have more to do with the Bracebridge Dinner episode of Gilmore Girls than any “Christmas” movie, but it seemed like something that happened around Christmastime and it had never seemed likely to happen to her.  

Until now.  She was in a horse-drawn sleigh--and making it even better was who was sharing it with her.  

Oliver was so broad-shouldered and physically imposing, the sleigh felt too small for the both of them.  Which meant she was pressed against Oliver’s side, from shoulder to hip to calf, and it was  _ wonderful _ .  

“I’ve never done anything like this, but I’ve always wanted to,” Felicity told him, unable to stop gazing at him.  In the moonlight, he looked even more handsome than usual.  

“Really?  I would have thought you had--it seems like the kind of thing you’d do.  I mean, from reading your blog, I get that sense,” Oliver said, stumbling a bit over his words in the most adorable way.  Like maybe he was affected by being so close to her? 

Shifting a little to get more comfortable on the wooden seat of the sleigh, Felicity shrugged her shoulders.  “You know how busy it can get during the holidays . . .”

With a small nod, Oliver smiled at her.  “I do.  Which is why I really appreciate you inviting Thea and me to your home.  Getting to have a real Christmas, after five years away . . . it’s meant the world to me.  Thank you, Felicity.”  

If her cheeks hadn’t already been pink from the cold air, they would be now from her embarrassment.  But she couldn’t look away from him, not even to save herself.  “You’re welcome,” she replied softly.  “But truly, I’m glad we could give you a real Christmas.  You and Thea.”  

It shouldn’t be possible, but his expression seemed to grow even warmer.  “Thea has really loved this trip.  She’s been at a boarding school for the last three years, ever since our parents died.”

“Oh,” Felicity breathed out.  “I’m sorry, Oliver.”  

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his hand lightly covering hers where they rested in her lap.  “It was a boat accident.  At least they were together.  And they knew I would take care of Thea.”  

“Still, it must have been so difficult on you, being on the other side of the world from your sister, during such a hard time . . .” Felicity said.  Then she frowned as something occurred to her.  “Couldn’t you have gotten a--what do you call it, a hardship discharge?  Since you were all your sister had?”  

Her heart sank when Oliver’s eyes dropped.  Turning her hand under his, she quickly squeezed it, trying to recapture his attention.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked--my curiosity gets the better of me all the time--”

“No, no, it’s . . . it’s okay, Felicity,” Oliver said.  “It’s just hard to talk about.  Because I feel so guilty.”  

“Guilty?” she asked softly when Oliver didn’t follow up on his statement.  From what she could see, he had nothing to feel guilty about when it came to Thea--he was a ridiculously good older brother.  

He nodded slowly.  “I never requested a hardship discharge.  Because I had only been in the Army for two years at that point; I wouldn’t have fully qualified for a pension or other veterans’ benefits if I got discharged.  I thought, for Thea’s sake, I should stay enlisted and just do my best to provide for her.  She’s gotten an amazing education at her school, and I managed to get home once or twice a year to see her.  And there was Skype and emails and things like that.”  

For a moment, he looked at her, a strange expression on his face.  He looked like there was something else he wanted to tell her.  Whatever impulse it was, though, seemed to pass quickly, and Oliver gave his head a shake.  “I know she needed me, but I . . . I didn’t want to shortchange her future.”

“I’m sure she understood that, Oliver,” Felicity told him, meaning it with all her heart.  “I mean, she looks at you like you put the sun in the sky.”  

That made Oliver chuckle, something that warmed Felicity even more than all the body heat coming off him.  “Maybe once in a while, but most of the time, she’s telling me how out-of-touch I am--or how much I treat her like a baby.”  

“It’s the nickname, isn’t it?” she asked.  “She thinks you still call her Speedy because you think she’s a little girl.”  

Oliver blinked.  “Yeah, that’s exactly what she says.”  

Gently, Felicity explained, “It might remind her of when she was little, and she had both her parents and her older brother around.”  

She hadn’t wanted to hurt him--that was the last thing Felicity had intended.  But seeing Oliver’s face crumple hurt even more than hearing about the loss of his parents.  She felt responsible for this--which meant she wanted to fix it, to wipe away that unhappy, far-away look from his face.  

“But I’m sure she also loves the nickname and would get upset if you stopped calling her that,” Felicity hurried to continue.  “So maybe you should just talk to her, and find out what she’s feeling.  Because I could have it all wrong--”

“No.”  

His voice was soft, so soft, that Felicity had to lean closer to him to hear it.  

“I’m sure you’re right.  So I am gonna talk to her.  She might have some issues from our parents’ deaths that she’s never dealt with.  I know I do.  Maybe . . . maybe we can deal with them together.”  

After only knowing someone thirty-six hours, you couldn’t really tell them that you were proud of them.  Yet that was how Felicity felt towards Oliver: proud.  Proud that he was willing to do anything to help his sister, proud that he hadn’t immediately dismissed a near-complete stranger’s suggestion for reaching out to his sister.  

Also?  Felicity was pretty damn sure she was falling in love with Sergeant Oliver Queen.  

XXX

Now  _ this  _ moment was like something out of a movie.  The air was crisp, the sky was full of stars, and they were in a horse-drawn sleigh.  All that was needed was a string or two of jingle bells to complete the scene.  

Or maybe the scene was already complete for him, since Felicity was sitting beside him, listening to him and offering advice and just being . . . amazing.  

She was so amazing.  Beautiful, smart, compassionate, skilled--everything he wanted.  Everything he needed.  Feeling her fingers wrapped around his was more satisfying than sex with any of the faceless women he had bedded, back in his playboy past.  Back in the days when he had been a liar and a cheat.  

He wasn’t like that now, though.  So he had thought, at least.  The Army had made him grow up and realize he wanted more than one-night stands.  No, he wanted a relationship.  Someone special, someone who would be a friend to Thea, who was independent and intelligent, successful in her own right yet liked having him around.  

Felicity was all of that and more.  The only problem was she wasn’t just Felicity Smoak.  She was Mrs. Ray Palmer, too, and Oliver wasn’t going to be the guy he used to be.  He wasn’t going to be Ollie, sleeping with women who ignored their boyfriends or husbands if it meant sleeping with Ollie Queen, Starling City’s biggest bad boy.  It hadn’t bothered him back then, but it bothered him now.  So he wasn’t about to repeat his past mistakes.  

Clearing his throat, he looked at her.  “So . . . what do you like to do when you’re not hosting strangers for the holidays or working on your blog?”  

“Oh . . . not much, I guess,” Felicity said awkwardly.  Almost like she was embarrassed to be asked the question.  “I . . . I spend time with Ray.  I watch movies and read a lot.  You know, normal stuff.”  

Her fingers twitched in his grasp and he loosened his hold on her hand, in case she wanted him to let go.  Yet she didn’t move her hand.

“Oh, and I like computers.  That . . . that was how Ray and I met,” she said, a flicker of something dark and unhappy falling over her face.  Then she gave her head a shake.    

“You don’t want to hear about that.  Really, it’s just about being happy, I think,” Felicity said, glancing at him before looking down at her lap.  “But I think everyone wants that: to do whatever it takes, within limits, to be happy.”

“I think you deserve all the happiness in the world.”

The words were out before he even realized he was thinking them.  Which made sense: something so heart-felt and sincere couldn’t have come from his brain.  No, if he had thought about it first, he would have never said it.  It came much too close to the edge of his feelings for her.  Feelings he would not express.  Not while she was married to another man.  

Without her glasses, it was so easy to see the emotions in her eyes.  The snap and sparkle when she was bantering with him, the sadness and sympathy when he told her about his parents.  At this moment, though, he couldn’t read her expression.  It was so complex and ever-shifting, he couldn’t get a grasp on what she was feeling.  So he had to wait for her to say something--a wait that felt endless.  

“You--you do?”  Her voice was breathless, full of shock, yet underneath . . . underneath, there was pleasure.  

“Well, I did say--I mean, I’d want that for anyone, but--”  Oliver felt like a ship lost at sea.  She overwhelmed him, made the needle on his inner compass spin around until the only true north he knew was her.  

If she was his true north, just looking at her should make the emotional waves recede.  So he did, and the words came to him.

“You’re remarkable, Felicity.”  

A small, happy smile lit up her face.  It was such an enticing look on her, Oliver suddenly wished he could see it every day for the rest of his life.  

“Thank you for remarking on it,” she whispered, looking up at him.

Had she always been this close to him?  Had her body always been so soft against his?  Had her lips always looked so pink and plump and kissable?  

Well, he knew the answer to that last question, really.  The first time he had laid eyes on her, Oliver had noticed her mouth and how it seemed made for kissing.  Then he had heard her talk, and he had revised his opinion.  Getting to listen to Felicity speak was a true pleasure--they were the memories he would treasure the most from this holiday.  He felt like he had grown to understand her, from how she talked and what she talked about, and he liked the woman she was.  

Yet in this moment, he was firmly reminded of his first impression of her.  Namely, how much he wanted to kiss her.  The setting couldn’t be better, with the moonlight and the stars and the quiet.  

He shouldn’t be doing this, Oliver realized, as his head lowered.  The move brought his lips closer to Felicity’s--close enough he could feel her breath waft over his face as she exhaled slowly.  Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold and under her soft blue hat, her hair looked like spun gold.  The hat matched her eyes--at least, the hat matched the color of her eyes.  Nothing could be a true match for her expressive, amazing eyes.  

Eyes that were getting bigger and bigger, the closer he came to her.  They were so close, yet Oliver knew he couldn’t close the gap between them.  As much as he wanted to crush her to him and kiss her breathless, it was up to Felicity to kiss him.  

Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth and Oliver felt his heart pound even harder in his chest.  She was moving closer--this was it--maybe he could have everything he wanted--

“Freeze!”

XXX

This wasn’t the first time Felicity had been facing arrest.  There had been a few acts of civil disobedience in high school and college, and an unfortunate Black Friday incident a few years ago--an incident that could have been avoided if the other woman had admitted Felicity had been the first one to pick up those [Charlotte Olympia cat flats](http://www.neimanmarcus.com/Charlotte-Olympia-FLIRTY-KITTY-VELVET-FLAT-EMO/prod193170034/p.prod?ecid=NMCS__Polyvore%20%20%5D).  

Still, Felicity never thought she would be arrested for stealing a horse-drawn sleigh.

Unbeknownst to either of them, as soon as Felicity and Oliver had sat down in the sleigh, the horse had started moving.  They had been too distracted by their conversation to notice they were moving, so it wasn’t until a member of Astra’s police force--one of three members, including the sheriff--had stopped them that they realized they were now a good four miles from the village hall.

The worst part of it all was she hadn’t been scared about losing track of her surroundings.  She hadn’t been worried about Ray’s reaction to finding her missing.  She wasn’t even worried about Mr. Diggle finding out she was a fraud, since she had to accept at this point that he was going to find out.  

No, Felicity was most upset about losing the perfect chance to kiss Oliver.  That moment in the sleigh had been perfect, and if she hadn’t hesitated, she could have kissed him.  

Why had she hesitated?  Why hadn’t she just gone for it, like she had been thinking about since he showed up on her doorstep?  Was she so worried about her job that she was willing to let someone like Oliver slip through her fingers?  

Or . . . was it knowing that if she kissed him, she would have to tell him the truth?  Telling him that the woman he had fallen for didn’t really exist?  As much as she felt like she knew Oliver, she didn’t know how he would react to such a bombshell.  The chances he would be willing to forgive her, to understand her reasons for lying, were slim at best.  How could anyone forgive someone for such a huge lie?  

She didn’t think it was possible.  So maybe it was for the best, the kiss not happening.  If they had kissed, it would have been something they couldn’t take back.  Something that would have opened the door to having to tell Oliver the truth.  That door couldn’t be opened; it had to stay locked and barred and barricaded.  

“Felicity, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing.”  

Oliver’s voice sounded amused yet concerned.  It made Felicity smile and walk over to sit beside him on the bench in their jail cell, even though she felt too full of nervous energy to sit quietly.  

“Sorry about that,” she said, leaning back against the brick wall.  

“It’s all right.  I didn’t want you to tire yourself out.  Who knows how long we’ll end up being here,” Oliver said, a bit disgruntled.  He raised his voice to say, “Since someone won’t let us have our phone call!”

The deputy who had brought them in, who was now keeping watch over them, glanced towards them yet stayed silent.  

“The downside of a small town, I guess, huh?” Oliver said, mirroring her position by leaning back against the wall, too.  Their faces were close to each other’s--not as close as they had been in the sleigh, of course--but at this distance, it was easy to see the soft shadows under his eyes and the flicker of worry in his eyes.  

“I’m sure Thea is fine,” Felicity reassured Oliver, resting a hand on his arm.  “They’ll let us go soon and then we can go home.  I mean, we can go back to my house, and you’ll be able to see that she’s fine.”  

He nodded, looking up at the ceiling.  “I know.”  Then he turned his head to look at her.  “If I have to be stuck in jail, I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to be stuck with.”

They had been in jail four hours.  She had only met Oliver less than forty-eight hours ago.  From his perspective, she was married.  She was in the middle of a giant scheme that involved lies and deception, all because she hadn’t wanted to tell the truth and risk losing money.  Yet in this moment, none of that mattered to Felicity.  All that mattered was that she wanted Oliver, she wanted him to be hers, and even when it all blew up in her face, she wanted to have the memory of doing what she most wanted to do.  

Without any hesitation or further delay, Felicity leaned in and pressed her lips against his.  

Soft.  His lips were so soft.  They were warm, too.  And really, just perfect--like everything else about him.  

At first, it was just the gentle press of her mouth against his.  Then, like a switch being flipped, Oliver responded to her.  His lips began moving against hers and she felt his hand cup the back of her head.  Felicity reached out, wrapping one hand around the lapel of his coat, pulling him closer in spite of their awkward position.  

Her body felt like it was melting, all from a simple kiss.  She wanted more--she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, wrap her arms around his waist, climb into his lap and grind against him--all while kissing him.  Even more than that, she wanted him to hold her close, to smile at her and laugh with her, to pepper her face with kisses during long conversations.  

All she wanted was everything, and she wanted it all with him.  

Much too soon, Oliver pulled back.  Felicity blinked, feeling like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her.  Oliver was shaking his head, looking wracked with guilt.  

“No--I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” he said, moving away from her on the bench.  “I can’t let you do this, Felicity.  I don’t know if you’ve been having problems with Ray, or if this just started recently, but I won’t break up a marriage like this.”  He met her eyes for a moment, then shook his head again.  “I’m sorry, but--no.”  

With that, he rose to his feet and stepped away from her.  He went to the other end of the cell, keeping his back to her.  It made Felicity feel tears threaten, because he was such a good person, and so kind, to worry about her when she had been the one chasing him.  What must he think of her now?  This felt even worse than the idea of telling him the truth.  At least then, he would know who she truly was before anything physical had happened between them.  Not like right now, when he would have to see her as a scheming adulteress!

Oh, God.  In Oliver’s mind, she was a cheater.  That felt worse than being just a liar.  The reason why wasn’t clear to her right now, what with her muddled brain and aching heart, but she felt lower than low.  

And the only one she could blame was herself.  

XXX    

There was only a few feet between them, in the back seat of the sheriff’s patrol car, yet it felt more like a million miles to Oliver.  Ever since he had pulled back from Felicity, since he had turned his back on a dream, the tension between them had been thick and awkward.  He didn’t know if there was any way he could fix it, not without making it even worse.  Yet he just couldn’t kiss Felicity while knowing she was married.  It didn’t feel right, despite how good the kiss was.  It had been so good--the best kiss he had ever experienced--but it was still wrong.  

He glanced over at her, but Felicity was turned towards the window, her face in profile to him so he couldn’t fully read her expression.  Oliver took a deep breath and looked out his own window at the slowly-rising sun, grateful that as soon as they returned to the Palmer farmhouse, he could pack, collect Thea, and get out of here.  

It wasn’t much of a Christmas, but at least he had Thea.  

The sheriff steered the car down the long driveway of Pine Tree Farm.  They were nearly there--this was nearly over.

This was nearly over.  

Oliver licked his lips and looked at Felicity again.  “T-thank you for your Christmas hospitality,” he said, his voice scratchy and rough around the edges.  

“You’re welcome,” Felicity replied flatly, not looking away from the window.  

That was why he shouldn’t have tried to fix things, Oliver thought to himself as the car stopped in front of the house.  

“Here you go, folks.  Sorry for the misunderstanding--we don’t get many new folks around here, and my deputy was a bit quick on the trigger,” the sheriff said, looking back at them.  “Merry Christmas.”  

Both of them muttered “Merry Christmas” to the sheriff as they got out of the car.  While Felicity made a beeline for the front door, Oliver paused, looking up at the farmhouse in the early morning light.  It was tempting to sink into a wallow of self-reflection, but he pushed that to the back of his mind and climbed the steps of the porch.  He would deal with everything once he and Thea were out of here.

He was just behind Felicity as she opened the door, letting it slam against the wall.  Which made the couple locked in a passionate embrace spring apart.  Thanks to his height, Oliver could easily see over Felicity, so he could see exactly who had been kissing underneath the mistletoe hung in the foyer.

“Thea?!?” he asked, staring at his little sister.  

“Roy?” Felicity said at the same time.  “What’s going on here?”  

The young man in question slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looking sheepish.  “Um, kinda thought it was obvious,” he said, his eyes flicking towards Thea.  

“Thea Dearden Queen,” Oliver said, advancing towards his sister.  “What is the meaning of this?”  

She winced slightly at his use of her full name, but Thea was never one to be easily cowed--especially when she had been caught.  She lifted her chin and stood her ground.  “Ollie, don’t go flying off the handle--”

“Oh, you do not get to tell me what to do,” he said firmly.  “You are sixteen years old!  Roy is too old for you, and besides, you’re never going to see him again after today.  He lives . . . someplace that isn’t where we are going to live.”  

“I’m only nineteen,” Roy said.  “My birthday was last month.  And Thea’s is in two months.  So it’s not even a three year age gap.”  

Oliver wasn’t in any mood to listen to math problems, especially not from the punk who had been kissing his sister.  He glared at Roy, who seemed to get the message and pressed his lips together--his lips which clearly bore signs of Thea’s lipstick.  

Turning back to his sister, Oliver tried to calm down.  “Look, Thea, I know when you’re thrown together with someone, it’s easy to imagine that there’s something there--something real.  But this situation is just going to lead to heartbreak.  We have to leave in a few hours, and then, what happens?  You and Roy will try to stay in touch?  Maybe see each other someday?  Let me tell you: someday will never come.”  

The last thing he wanted to do was crush her dreams.  Yet Thea needed to hear this.  Better now than down the line, after her heart had been broken and she was left alone, crying and sad.  He would be a little bit cruel now, in order that someone else wouldn’t be so much crueler in the future.  

Thea sniffed quietly.  “Ollie . . .”  To his surprise, Felicity suddenly walked over to stand beside Thea, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.  His sister ducked her head, then wiped at her eyes.  Oliver swallowed, trying to remember he was doing this for Thea’s own good.  But that was hard to remember when he had made his sister cry.

“That’s bullshit.”  

“Roy,” Oliver said, his anger roaring back to life as the young man moved to stand beside Thea, too.  “You don’t get a say here.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, taking Thea’s hand.  “Who are you to say whether things will work out?  Maybe it will, maybe it won’t.  But it’s better to take the chance.”  

Oliver folded his arms over his chest.  “Spoken like someone who’s never really had their heart broken.”  

Roy rolled his eyes.  “And you have?  Seems like it hasn’t really stuck with you, given how you’ve been making eyes at Felicity all weekend.”  

“What’s going on--”  

It was all Oliver could do to hold back his groan.  Because of course what this situation needed was John Diggle suddenly appearing.  

“Just a matter between my sister and me, John,” Oliver bit out, running his hands through his hair.  “One that we will talk about, in private, as we head to the airport.  Go upstairs and start packing, Thea.”  

When Thea shook her head, Oliver actually wanted to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing properly.  “Thea?” he asked, staring at her.  

“No, Ollie,” Thea said, her voice steady and firm even as a tear slipped down her cheek.  “I don’t want to leave until we get this all settled.  And if you won’t talk to me about it, I--I’ll--I’ll stay here with Felicity and Ray.”  

Felicity opened her mouth and held up a finger, as if she was going to object, but she wasn’t able to say anything before Roy snorted.  

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”  

“Roy--” Felicity began, but Roy shook his head.  

“No, Felicity,” he said, leaning around Thea to look at her.  “I think it’s time we all put our cards on the table, don’t you?”  

She opened and closed her mouth, looking utterly confused and uncertain.  Her eyes flicked towards John, then towards Oliver, before she looked back at Roy.  And then her head gave the tiniest of nods.  

Roy gestured to her.  “Be my guest.  Too bad Ray’s not around to hear this.”  

“Ray?” Felicity asked blankly, before comprehension dawned in her eyes.  “Ray!  Where is he?”

Her question hung in the air until John finally said, “He said he had to return to Starling City, so he left late last night.”  

Guilt washed over Oliver like the wave of the ocean.  Ray had left last night.  While Oliver and Felicity were locked up in jail.  Or maybe before that: maybe when they were in that horse-drawn sleigh, talking under the stars . . . 

When he looked at Felicity, it was clear she was thinking the same thing.  She twisted her fingers together before beginning to speak, her voice hesitant and halting.  “I--I suppose you . . . you might have found some of my behavior a bit . . . odd.”  

John advanced towards Felicity, an amused smile on his face.  “That’s one way of putting it.”  

Felicity tried to smile at him, but it quickly faded.  She closed her eyes and, in contrast to before, spoke quickly and decisively.  “I’ve never been married, I don’t have a baby, and I’ve never lived on a farm.  All the blog posts were written by an algorithm I created in college, so everything in  _ Felicity’s Fireside _ is . . . not real.”

The silence was so extreme, you probably could have heard a pin drop.  Although Oliver wasn’t sure--all he could hear was the sound of the blood rushing through his head.  Felicity . . . wasn’t married?

Roy gently patted Felicity on the back, then reached over to take Thea’s hand and draw her away from Felicity.  Thea looked confused but not greatly so.  “So . . . who did all the cooking this weekend?” she asked, looking at Felicity.

“I did,” Roy said.  “I tested recipes for Felicity and took the photos for her blog.”  

“And--the baby?” John asked, tilting his head to the side.  

Roy raised his hand, then realized what that might imply and quickly lowered it.  “She belongs to a friend of mine.  I borrowed the baby to help Felicity.”

“Hmm,” John said, his arms folded over his chest and the fingers of one hand resting over his mouth.  “And did anyone else know about this . . . duplicity?”

“Just Ray,” Roy replied.  

John nodded, his gaze still focused on Felicity.  She had cracked one eye open, then the other, yet she still looked guarded and tense.  Oliver could understand that--she must be braced for the worst.  John Diggle didn’t seem like the type who would allow the wool to be pulled over his eyes--not without exacting retribution for such a slight.

Personally, Oliver was still reeling at discovering that Felicity wasn’t married.  He wasn’t sure how he felt about this situation, yet that didn’t change that he felt the urge to walk over towards Felicity, to stand beside her and help her weather this storm.  

But he wasn’t sure if he should.  If that was what she wanted.  

“At least now everything makes sense,” John finally said, looking at Felicity.  “Because from what you ‘wrote’, you shouldn’t be looking at Oliver the way you were this weekend.”  

It wasn’t just her cheeks that turned pink--the blush ran up to her forehead and down her neck.  Oliver could see how Felicity was very carefully not looking at him, which made the urge to support her grow even stronger.  He actually took two steps forward, which attracted John’s attention.  

“And you!  It was like something out of a melodrama,” he said with a chuckle. “Falling for a married woman.  Not for the first time, but certainly the first time against your will, hmmm?”

Felicity’s head snapped up, her eyes locking on his.  Oliver felt breathless, watching her look at him.  He had to--he needed--

Wait.  How--how had John figured that out?  Oliver’s eyes looked towards Thea, who held her hands up as if to say ‘not me!’  

“Don’t worry, your sister wasn’t telling tales,” John said.  “I just know what it looks like when two people are falling for each other under difficult circumstances.  I saw it all the time in my unit.  Hell, it happened to me--that’s how I met my wife.”  

John rested a hand on Oliver’s shoulder.  “I think you might want to have a word with Felicity.”  

Oliver only dimly heard what John said, because he was too focused on looking at Felicity again.  Who was just staring at him, with a slowly-dawning smile on her face.  

“This is so much like a movie, I need popcorn,” Roy muttered to Thea, who let out a quiet giggle.  

“Thea, Roy, why don’t we step into the kitchen,” John said, giving Oliver a not-so-gentle push towards Felicity as he removed his hand from Oliver’s shoulder.  Then he ushered Thea and Roy out of the room, leaving Oliver and Felicity alone for the first time since the jail cell.  

Alone, and still staring at each other.  Oliver had never claimed to be the smartest guy around, but he didn’t know how anyone would be able to cope with learning so much in such a short period of time.  

“So, you--” he started to say, only for his voice to come out in a practically inaudible rasp.  Oliver cleared his throat and started again.  “So, you . . . you just made all of this up?”  

She nodded slowly, then shook her head.  “Yes--no.  I mean, the algorithm made it all up.  I just . . . tweaked things, here and there.  Kept everything consistent, cross-checked the algorithm’s performance to make sure the posts made sense.  Roy--he did the real work, with testing all the recipes, taking the photos . . . and then coming here this weekend and doing all the cooking.”

“I . . . I see,” Oliver said, even though he really didn’t.  What was an algorithm?  Why had she gone through this whole elaborate scheme?  Did she feel the same as he did?  

Really, he should be stuck on the fact that she had lied to him.  That should be bothering him more than it was, he thought. Yet it didn’t.  Because he felt like he knew Felicity, and she wasn’t a liar.  

“I just have two questions,” he said slowly, taking a step towards her.  “Why did you do all this?  Pretend to be married, to have a baby . . .”  His voice trailed off as he marveled at everything she had done to make this work.  

With a huff of laughter, Felicity lifted her hands in the air in the universal ‘I don’t know’ gesture.  “At first, it was just about . . . not losing my book contract.  Not wanting to lose all the things that being successful gave me.  But once I was here, and--and once you got here . . . I had a new reason to keep things going.”  She blinked as she looked up at him.  “I--I wanted to get to know you.  I didn’t want you to leave.”  

“Even though nothing could happen between us as long as I thought you were married?” he asked, moving closer to her.  

Felicity nodded, her eyes looking slightly glassy with unshed tears.  “Even then.  I’m sorry--I’m so sorry, Oliver, I just totally lost my head and everything up was down--except you.  You just--you made me feel solid ground under my feet, for the first time in . . . ever.”  

Oliver felt his fingers twitch in an old mannerism, his thumb rubbing against his fingers.  He was nervous, excited, amazed, because he felt the same way about her.  Now that he knew the truth, he felt so steady and secure.  He wasn’t overwhelmed anymore or puzzled at her strange behavior.  This--this was the real Felicity.  The Felicity he had seen when they were together and she wasn’t thinking about the lie she was trying to live.  

That was the Felicity he had fallen for.  The Felicity he wanted to know even better.  The Felicity who had fallen for him.  

“You--you said you had two questions?” 

Her voice was soft and trembling.  Oliver looked down at her, taking in her beautiful face and thinking about the amazing mind and spirit she possessed.  And he felt so secure in her, he had no hesitation about asking her his question.  

“Felicity--”

Like a laugh at a funeral, the peal of the doorbell interrupted them.  Frowning, Oliver turned towards the door, wondering who was showing up like this on Christmas Day.  He looked back at an annoyed and flustered Felicity.  

“Come in, it’s open!” she called out, not moving away from Oliver.  “What were you going to say?” she asked him, not even looking towards the opening door.  

“I was going to say--” Oliver began, only to be interrupted again.

“Oliver!”

The sound of Tommy Merlyn’s voice made Oliver startle before he looked towards the door.  “Tommy?” he asked in disbelief.  

His former comrade grinned at him as he turned to pull his companion into the house.  “Hey, buddy!  We made it just in time--Laurel and I got the idea we should come join you for Christmas, and give you the good news--we’re married!”

“It all happened so fast,” Laurel, his lawyer said as she displayed the wedding ring on her finger.  “We’re so sorry about barging in unannounced like this, but Tommy’s just a force of nature.”

In unison, Oliver and Felicity’s eyes met, and he sighed.  “I’m sorry, but he really is.”  

“Hey, Oliver, did you know you two were under the mistletoe?  And hi, Oliver’s mysterious lady friend--”

Oliver didn’t hear whatever else Tommy said.  Because when his friend told them they were both standing under the mistletoe, he and Felicity had both looked up and confirmed he was right.  

And then they were kissing.  Kissing like they would never get the chance again, their hands moving over each other’s bodies, lips pressing against each other’s, soft little murmurs and sighs escaping their mouths.  

“Oliver--Oliver--you’re sure?” Felicity breathed out before she kissed him again.  

“Yes--yes--” he muttered when he had to stop to breathe.  

“Oliver Jonas Queen, what is the meaning of this?”  Thea’s voice was part disgusted, part delighted as she echoed his earlier statement.  

It snapped Oliver out of his Felicity-inspired daze, making him turn to see his sister, Roy and John had left the kitchen--probably due to the doorbell ringing.  So they must have all watched him kiss Felicity.  Or Felicity kiss him.  Honestly, Oliver couldn’t remember who had kissed whom first, and he really didn’t care given the outcome.  

At least everyone was smiling at them.  He looked down at Felicity, who was blushing yet smiling the brightest of everyone, and Oliver smiled back at her.

“What a Christmas!” John said, putting into words what Oliver would never be able to do.

What a Christmas, indeed.

End.

  
  
  



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